The steam from the shower hadn't managed to wash away the chill in her bones. Standing in the middle of the master suite, the sheer smell of the room felt like a mockery. Every plush rug, every silk sheet, and the lingering scent of Max's sandalwood cologne felt like a carefully constructed set for a play she hadn't realized she was starring in.
She looked at the vast, empty bed, the place where she had felt safest, where she had whispered secrets into the crook of his neck. A fresh sob wrecked her chest, forcing her to double over. She had been madly in love. Not with a contract, but with the man who made her feel seen.
Then the image of her mother, and then Nancy's pale face, flashed in her mind.
Ruby straightened her spine. She walked toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders, her eyes rimmed with red. She didn't look at herself as a victim anymore; she looked at the reflection as if it were a stranger she needed to recruit for a war.
